When I fist began this blog, one of my first posts was about a book I came across on being a male escort. Today I came across another that also made me think about the kinds of reading out there - The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Men. Turns out it's part of a series of sorts on sexual practices. There is one for anal sex and women, fellatio, strap-ons, lesbian pregnancy, etc. Yes, they will publish anything.
In today's society where it ok to talk about sex, if not mandated, these kinds of books are expected. Sex and sexuality are taught as classes in college; students major in the study. The library I work in not only holds the aforementioned male escort tbook, but also The new topping book as well as many older books written on various sex subjects. t Television and movies no longer sensually hint at the act but show the characters in flagrante delecto (I have no problem saying that people are having sex, intercourse, coitus, etc. I just love that phrase!). Books and series like Sex & the City or Straight up & Dirty have told women, at least, that it's not just ok to be sexual, but to declare it to world! With details!
I know that I am not the only one who has looked at this openness and wondered, is it all it's cracked up to be? Have we lost all sense of modesty, or of romance? Are we too quick to rationalize our sexual desires, name them and put a psychological reasoning behind it all? Can you really have irrational, spontaneous passion if you'd been planning it all day like you read in Redbook? Sex as reproduction is what we all in the animal kingdom do. And for a few of us lucky(??) extra-intelligent species, there is enjoyment in it. I am sure that there is a lot for psychology to say about the reasons why we are a culture obsessed with sex, yadda yadda yadda, but I don't really care. We are. Besides, a lot of it is just due to past repressions, anyway. But now we are obsessed with talking about sex, and apparently, reading about it. I wonder, with all this expose, if sex can still be personal, intimate? Many would make us think that if we don't share openly our sex lives or don't openly experiment with different positions that we're prudes and stuck in the dark ages. Women are attacked for not being feminists and embracing their sensuality. But this isn't the place for one of my rants on sex and culture. This is about The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Men.
I have this thing with sex instruction books like the Ultimate Guides mentioned above. Yes, these books in particular normalize previously "underground" "unspoken" practices, and that's good in a way. But I can't help but feel like it also sterilizes them! It takes something that we do for pleasure and turns it in to school! I can't imagine desiring to study for my next date. For centuries people have been having sex of all kinds with all sorts of people and things - sometimes it was good, sometimes it wasn't. They learned and grew. Lesbians aren't new, and I highly doubt strap-ons are that novel, either. Must we all go in to our first experiences as experts? Where's the fun in that?! Sure, sex ala Bushnell's Samantha may be fun, but so is the journey there. First times are awkward, weird, fun, and memorable. Did I mention fun? The mystery of it is part of that.
So, it's great that you know a lot about anal sex and want to share it. And I understand that someone wants to learn about it. But why take the leap a little blindly? You can know how to be safe without getting a master's degree on the subject. Enjoy growing through experiences! And for pete's sake, don't take it all so damn seriously!!
10.09 EDIT - Just came across The Lesbian S/M Safety Manual edited by Pat Califia. The synop on the back begins, "This handy guide is an essential item for the leather dyke who wants to be well-informed about how to play safe and stay healthy." Ok, for safety (in BDSM, certain scenarios), I get having a book.
25 September 2008
11 September 2008
on teachers and writing....and Lincoln
Checked up on my old NYU writing teacher, Josh Shenk, to see what he's up to these days. Not teaching at NYU, for one. Also, seems he finished that book about Lincoln back in 2005. We have it at work, so it may be on my near-future reading list. Sadly I had plans to read through parts of Gimbutas's Civilization of the Goddess and Handbook of Landscape Archaeology next. Though non-fiction, Josh's Lincoln's Melancholy: how Depression Challenged a President and Fueled His Greatness is probably the easier read. I've been v. immersed in fiction of late, and I need to focus on some more useful reading. Gimbutas and Landscape are not falling away, though.
I liked Josh's class a lot. My writing in high school was always good enough that the teachers could ignore me and worry about those who couldn't string a coherent sentence together. That meant that I never got any better. Writing the Essay - the introductory writing class mandatory for all Arts & Crafts students at NYU - was usually dreaded. It was often taught by old near-retirement professors who didn't give a damn or graduate students who forced their own writing upon their captive audience. I had neither. I had Josh. The first time I had to get used to calling a teacher by their first name (I have no Ph.D, and am not Professor. And Mr Shenk is my father."). It was 15 students at 8am in the morning in a small library classroom. Since being in the library meant coffee had to be snuck in, ha had it changed to a room in the Expository Writing building ("I don't know about you, but at 8am, I need my coffee"). Fifteen students, mostly freshman, with a slightly crazed writer who loved his iPod like a child and bounced a MoMa bouncy ball on the subway platforms during his commute from Brooklyn (it was so gross).
Josh didn't have an ax to grind or anyone to impress. We read one small part of the then-in-progress Lincoln book and one article of his (it had already been published, so it wasn't like he was looking for positive affirmations). Other than that, he actually focused on us and our writing. It was the first time anyone had ever taken the time to really read my writing and work with me on improving it. I felt, for the first time, that I had truly learned something. He taught that the essay should be like his bouncy ball - bouncing along from image to idea to image and so forth until your final idea was reached. It was a journey that had two intermingled parts to it. At the end, he bought us all two-colored bouncy balls, a reminder of essay writing. I still have it. I still remember and try it that way.
He expanded what an essay meant, what it could convey. In addition to reading the essays from our textbook (edited by the head of Expository Writing, of course) we analyzed the essay-like qualities of poetry and music. There was much Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen played from the iPod. Long before encountering the inimitable Shea, this was my first experience with a teacher who thought outside the status quo, who pushed us to think.
This experience, sadly, set my standards too high. I transferred to a state school that didn't expect/demand that students write a proper paper until junior year. A school that held the little dears' hands through college so that they didn't have to learn too much and hurt themselves. Technicalities made it necessary that I take the intro writing course my senior year (they didn't have my WtE grades - I got an A-). It was taught by a misanthropic moron who liked rebel poets, and not much else, it seemed. He and I clashed from day one. And he barely helped those kids learn to write. I don't think he inspired anyone to write, or write better. I helped get a classmate through it, not him.
I missed Josh's class over the years. I missed teachers like him. So I want to read Lincoln's Melancholy. I'll let you all know about it when I'm done.
I liked Josh's class a lot. My writing in high school was always good enough that the teachers could ignore me and worry about those who couldn't string a coherent sentence together. That meant that I never got any better. Writing the Essay - the introductory writing class mandatory for all Arts & Crafts students at NYU - was usually dreaded. It was often taught by old near-retirement professors who didn't give a damn or graduate students who forced their own writing upon their captive audience. I had neither. I had Josh. The first time I had to get used to calling a teacher by their first name (I have no Ph.D, and am not Professor. And Mr Shenk is my father."). It was 15 students at 8am in the morning in a small library classroom. Since being in the library meant coffee had to be snuck in, ha had it changed to a room in the Expository Writing building ("I don't know about you, but at 8am, I need my coffee"). Fifteen students, mostly freshman, with a slightly crazed writer who loved his iPod like a child and bounced a MoMa bouncy ball on the subway platforms during his commute from Brooklyn (it was so gross).
Josh didn't have an ax to grind or anyone to impress. We read one small part of the then-in-progress Lincoln book and one article of his (it had already been published, so it wasn't like he was looking for positive affirmations). Other than that, he actually focused on us and our writing. It was the first time anyone had ever taken the time to really read my writing and work with me on improving it. I felt, for the first time, that I had truly learned something. He taught that the essay should be like his bouncy ball - bouncing along from image to idea to image and so forth until your final idea was reached. It was a journey that had two intermingled parts to it. At the end, he bought us all two-colored bouncy balls, a reminder of essay writing. I still have it. I still remember and try it that way.
He expanded what an essay meant, what it could convey. In addition to reading the essays from our textbook (edited by the head of Expository Writing, of course) we analyzed the essay-like qualities of poetry and music. There was much Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen played from the iPod. Long before encountering the inimitable Shea, this was my first experience with a teacher who thought outside the status quo, who pushed us to think.
This experience, sadly, set my standards too high. I transferred to a state school that didn't expect/demand that students write a proper paper until junior year. A school that held the little dears' hands through college so that they didn't have to learn too much and hurt themselves. Technicalities made it necessary that I take the intro writing course my senior year (they didn't have my WtE grades - I got an A-). It was taught by a misanthropic moron who liked rebel poets, and not much else, it seemed. He and I clashed from day one. And he barely helped those kids learn to write. I don't think he inspired anyone to write, or write better. I helped get a classmate through it, not him.
I missed Josh's class over the years. I missed teachers like him. So I want to read Lincoln's Melancholy. I'll let you all know about it when I'm done.
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